


Tell Me About My Dad

by livingdeppgirl



Category: Child's Play/Chucky (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Mentions of Murder, This killed me, i am in no body because i am dead, mention of Glen, tiffany is in jennifer tilly's body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 12:51:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5666740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livingdeppgirl/pseuds/livingdeppgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That was until Glenda suddenly turned around to face her mother. She reached around to the back of her head and yanked the brush out with a painful sound echoing through the room as hair was torn from her scalp. A clump of wet, red hair clung onto the bristles as she removed it, tossing it into the sink.</p><p>“Tell me about my dad,” she demanded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me About My Dad

Tiffany slowly ran the brush through Glenda’s hair, quietly tearing apart each tie between strands. Wet like this, it looked like a sea of lava. Dark and flowing. It reached the center of her back, but that wouldn’t last long. When it dried out, it would stand out in every direction, coiled in tight frizzy curls.

“I don’t know why you make me brush this,” Tiffany mumbled to her daughter. “It just makes it even frizzier.”

Glenda smirked. She and her mother had this discussion every morning. “Mom, I like it this way.”

“It makes you look like a mad scientist,” Tiffany teased.

“Maybe that’s what I’m going for.”

Her mother chuckled to herself until the brush suddenly got caught in a knot. Tiffany mumbled, “Fuck,” as she tried to yank it out.

“Uh, ouch?” Glenda reminded her sarcastically.

“It’s stuck, honey, I’m sorry.” She continued to try to pull it out, but it was holding on for dear life. She muttered, “God, your father was always much better at this than I was.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing, honey,” she said. Tiffany never liked to utter a word about Chucky around the children. He was a terrible influence on them. He was long gone, and she preferred to keep it that way. She didn’t want them to know the terrible things he did, the terrible way he treated them and her. She couldn’t really help Glen, as he was there for it all, but Glenda only knew a fraction of the truth. Tiffany wasn’t prepared to let her know any more than that.

That was until Glenda suddenly turned around to face her mother. She reached around to the back of her head and yanked the brush out with a painful sound echoing through the room as hair was torn from her scalp. A clump of wet, red hair clung onto the bristles as she removed it, tossing it into the sink.

“Tell me about my dad,” she demanded.

Tiffany was shocked. She knew Glenda was capable of a lot of things. After all, she was the daughter of two serial killers. But she had never asserted her dominance in this way. The most Tiffany had ever seen of her daughter’s strength was when she gave that poor child Dana a bloody nose.

She shook her head, putting on a façade for her daughter, acting as if she was being silly. “You know about your father, sweetie, you were there.”

“Not really!” Glenda denied, stomping her foot. “I was there once. I know Dad was a killer. I know he was a bad person. That’s it, that’s all I know. I want to know about who he really was.”

“What else is there when you’re a killer?” Tiffany asked.

Glenda rolled her eyes. “So are you, Mom."

“Hey!” Tiffany scolded. “Glen could be anywhere. We don't talk about that unless we know he's not around. That's between you and me.”

“Fine,” she said. "Can you please tell me about him? I just want to know my dad.”

“Why do you want to know so badly?”

“Because.” Glenda sat down on the toilet seat, looking down at her feet. She smoothed out the wrinkles on the skirt of her dress to distract herself. “All the other kids have dads. When I asked Lisa if she wanted to come over, she said she couldn’t. She was going to a baseball game with her dad. Wes couldn’t either, he was going fishing with his father.”

She looked up at Tiffany with tears slipping from her green eyes. Her face had to be just as wet as the back of her dress was by now from her hair dripping. “Why can’t we have that?”

“Oh, darling,” Tiffany said, sinking to her knees in front of her daughter. “Not having a dad doesn’t mean you can’t do those things. I can take you to a baseball game. I can take you fishing. I’m not as good at it, but I can learn.”

“But that’s the thing,” she argued. “It’s not the same. I want a dad to bond with. There’s an entire day dedicated to celebrating fathers. I don’t even have a picture of him to look at.”

Tiffany sighed. Reaching into the back pocket of her jeans, she felt the worn edges of the Polaroid she always carried with her. She slowly pulled it out, giving herself a chance to weigh what she was about to do. Tiffany herself missed Chucky every day. She knew it was for the best that he was gone. That he wasn’t around. That the only memory she had of him was this picture and a doll arm buried in the backyard.

But somehow, she couldn’t stop herself from thinking about him. He was a big part of her life. He was, in all senses of the word, her soulmate. However, she knew he could never learn. He could never improve. He’d never be better. And that was why she still kept him a secret. She rarely let herself think about him. Thinking meant missing and missing meant crying and crying meant she couldn’t be strong enough to fight the urge to bring him back to her. She couldn’t be strong enough to care for her children that way.

Still, Glenda deserved to know. She needed to know.

Tiffany handed the Polaroid into Glenda’s shaking hand.

The picture was of a young Charles Lee Ray, staring into the distance of the sea. He had dark brown coiled curls down to his shoulders and pale blue eyes that seemed to contain every secret to the world in them. He was thin, but he wasn’t lanky. He was fit. He had a straight nose and a strong jaw with cheekbones that stuck out the most on his beautiful face.

“Is that…?”

“That’s your father, Glenda.”

Glenda suddenly lifted her head up, staring at her mother with such relief and joy, Tiffany knew she had made the right choice. “How old is he in this?” she asked.

“Twenty-one. He wanted to go get drunk on a boat, so that’s what we did for his birthday,” she laughed.

“Mom!”

“Hey, I warned you about him!” she chuckled, tears pricking the backs of her eyes. “He had four loves in this world – money, alcohol, and murder.”

“What was the fourth one?”

“Me.”

Glenda smiled. “Did you love him, too?”

“Of course I did!” she exclaimed. “I loved him more than I loved myself. That was the problem.”

“How did you meet?” she whispered, looking back at the photo.

“We were seventeen. I went to a party with this boy I was seeing – Tim or Tom or something like that. I was trying to rebel against my parents, so I brought some alcohol and cigarettes and everything,” she laughed. “Anyway, I had a few too many – you’re not going to tell Glen any of this are you?”

“Mom, that kid doesn’t have a rebellious bone in his body.”

“You’re right,” Tiff agreed. “Which is why I shouldn’t be telling _you_ this.”

Glenda laughed, a true and joyous laugh. Tiffany had never heard her laugh like that.

She reached out and brushed a tear off her daughter’s cheek, one falling down hers instead. “I had too many drinks and this Tim guy or whatever started getting too close for me to be comfortable with at that moment. Your father saw this happening, and he doesn’t have much of a moral code, believe me. But he was against that. So he came over and punched this kid in the face,” Tiffany laughed.

“What happened next?” Glenda asked with light shining in her eyes.

“I thanked him and he took me home. After that, I saw him everywhere I went. I don’t know if it was because I was looking for him now or if I just noticed his presence. Eventually, I just walked over to his house – he lived nearby, everyone did – and asked if he wanted to hang out sometime.”

“What did he say?”

“I’m not going to tell you that, you’re too young," she laughed, mussing her daughter's hair. "But let’s just say we went to the park like two cheesy teenagers and we held hands and then we went home. And that was that. We were attached at the hip from then on.”

Glenda shook her head. “Until now.”

“Love is supposed to set you free, Glenda,” she explained. “Sometimes it needs to set you free from its own trap.”

She looked down at her knees, noticing a slight tear in her jeans. She picked at the threads of fabric. It was easier than looking into her daughter’s eyes. She knew in there, all she would see was Chucky. And she couldn’t afford that right now.

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“What was he like?”

Tiffany sighed, but it sounded like a sob. “He was perfect, honey. He had a contagious laugh and a bright smile. He was sweet and protective to me, but he was also strong enough to stand on his own. He stood up for what he believed in, and he was brave enough to face anything. He loved and he cared and he gave, but he also took. He took everything from everyone until all that was left was what he was generous enough to give. And somehow, that was the greatest thing about him.”

“Do you miss him?”

She looked up at her daughter, who was looking down at her. “Always.”

Glenda slid off the toilet seat and into her mother’s arms, wrapping herself around her. She hugged her tight and close. Tiffany buried her face into her daughter’s slightly drying hair, the way she did when Chucky would hug her. She missed him so much.

Suddenly, Glenda sprang out of her arms.

“Where are you going?” Tiff chuckled, her voice rough from crying.

“To put this,” she held up the Polaroid, “in my backpack. It’s Show and Tell day. I’m going to tell everyone about my dad.” She grinned and took off down the stairs, excited to announce to everyone that she had a father too.

Tiffany stood up, wiping the rest of the tear tracks from her face. As she was doing so, her maid Anne passed by the bathroom.

“Miss Tilly, are you alright?” she asked, concerned.

She nodded unconvincingly. “Yeah, don’t worry about me. Just emotional,” she chuckled.

Anne slowly nodded and continued her trot down the hallway, suspicion evident in her eyes.

“Anne!” Tiffany called before she could think about it a moment more.

She appeared from nowhere, her head poking in through the doorway. “Yes, Miss Tilly?”

She took a deep breath. “Bring me a shovel,” she said. “I have something I need to get from the backyard.”

“A shovel? Why would you need to dig something up, Miss Tilly?”

Tiffany smirked. “My mother always told me you can’t bury your past.”


End file.
